Scruffy
by SpockLikesCats
Summary: Uhura's all dressed up with no Spock To Go. Where the hell is he? He explains. And apologizes (1,701 characters, neat coincidence, though Enterprise is not in the story - except the interpersonal kind) ... Academy fic.


**Scruffy **[for Psicygni, her prompt from Tumblr. And for all Spock/Uhura Interspecies "Relations" fans]

**Rated M**

**Spock/Uhura**

**Reminders:** No profits accrue to me (if only they'd use a sccene like this in a movie, heh!) … characters are Star Trek's, and Star Trek is CBS/Paramount's, and you know what, most of the fanfic writers I know do great stories that should inspire good professional writing, but if wishes were starships ….

My alter ego at Tumblr is Spockat. For those on Tumblr, yes, I am SpockLikesCats at .

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Cadet Uhura arrived at Spock's officer quarters at 1930 hours, as she always had done everything, precisely. She touched the chime button and expected the door to slide open as usual.

Nothing happened.

She frowned. _Odd. Did Spock forget? Not possible. He'd have let me know. Maybe he's in a briefing? No … he did say he was doing a flight exercise with some cadets at 1600 hours, but he said they'd be done by 1700. Can it be he's not back yet? He surely would have sent me a message …. _

She stood for a moment, unsure of what to do. She didn't like to be standing here in the hall like a supplicant, attracting attention; occasionally instructor colleagues of Spock's came through, and Uhura customarily had a Padd in her hand, or several, besides wearing her uniform and a very officious expression.

_The one time I dress up. The __one__ time! Where is he?_

She heard a sound from the stairwell, the door closing softly on the latch. If it hadn't been for that, he would have slipped silently up behind her (she enjoyed his stealth). He looked as though he'd run all the way across campus.

As it was, he looked _fine_. But In the time they had known each other she'd never seen him quite this way.

Of course Spock was always _fine_, always quite handsome, composed, beautifully built, and _so_ … yeah, built! and so on.

But tonight his masculinity, always on a tight rein, impeccably groomed and subdued beneath the perfect black cap of hair, was more obvious than usual.

He gave her a complicit look of "_maintain silence_" and keyed open the lock; the door slid open. She stepped in and immediately turned around to stop his progress further into the apartment with her body. "Stay right here," she said, low. "Let me look at you."

Slipping just inside the door so it could close, he looked puzzled at first, then apologized for arriving late. Uhura stood before him, her hands cradling his face, looking at him with that total attention so unique to her. "There was an accident at the shuttle landing site. We'd just returned from our exercises and Squad Four landed right behind us – their ship was damaged. My trainees and I ferried all the cadets, and the instructor, Thelov, to Medical."

"Are they going to be all right?"She half murmured the words, her eyes drinking him in.

"Yes, there were mostly minor injuries. LCDR Shelov is filing an Incident Report before she rests tonight." He paused, thoughtfully. "I've never seen an Andorian with a broken antenna. She said she will be fine."

"And you, _mpenzi_, are you all right?" She moved in to kiss his lips in a questing manner.

"Quite. Forgive my appearance—"

"There is nothing to forgive, Spock." Then, her eyes taking him in hungrily, "Oh, my, no, there is _not_."

He crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly, watching her. "You are wearing a most attractive dress," he observed. "I will reschedule our dinner reservation," he said, moving to the comm.

She smiled slowly. "You are wearing a most attractive scruffy look."

"I—?"

She moved to him, reached out a hand and rasped her fingertips over his chin, up his jaw, across his upper lip. "I like it. And I like your hair this way, too." He reared his head back slightly, as if embarrassed about his dishevelment. "No … let me," she murmured, running her fingers over the top of his head, ruffling his hair even more. "Come out to dinner with me like this."

"I—what? I must shower and change."

"Fine. But don't you comb that hair and don't shave, either," she said, her eyes peeping provocatively at him from under her lowered brow. A slow smile curved her mouth.

She followed him as he went to the bedroom, watching him sit to take off his boots. He was about to stand and remove his other clothes, and she moved in close. "Allow me."

His mouth opened slightly, as if he were about to speak; she put the pad of her finger there and their eyes met, kindling a spark – his pupils dilated as he extended his chin and licked her finger, then sucked it, and pulled her onto his lap. She hiked up her dress, one with a loose-flowing skirt, and straddled him. She kissed his face, starting at the roughly-fringed forehead (she buried her nose in his messy bangs, nuzzling and licking, then progressed down to his temple. Some men just stank when they'd been working hard. Spock's sweat always had a coppery underlay, but also a spicy scent; she hadn't yet learned if it was the soap he used or if it was natural—whatever it was, it turned her on). She kissed his ear, little pecks up the point and down, and lightly tongued the cartilage and nipped his lobe, and had nearly lost track of what he was doing because she was so absorbed in this altered Spock, licking his cheek and wetly kissing his jawline, feeling the rasp of beard she had never felt before. Usually the skin of his face was as soft as a kitten's ear.

He had taken her hair down, the coiled braid she'd been wearing at the nape of her neck was now loose waves down her back. _Nimble-fingered Vulcan_. She tossed her head a little, she knew he liked the movement of her hair, and she looked into his eyes as she kissed him, a long, deep kiss in which he became the aggressor, pulling back now and again to make sure her gaze was firm on his, his heated lips tracing all around her mouth then zeroing in, tongue pressing against hers, his lips firm and then soft.

Nyota shrugged out of the shoulders of her dress, a loosely pleated style that seemed Grecian-inspired, and it draped beautifully over her bosom, but as Spock bent his head to kiss her shoulders the dress slipped lower, and he teased her breasts partway out of her bra using his cheeks and nose (the rough beard brought interesting sensations there). His hands were busy untying the sides of her lace panties. Slipping into the tops of her stockings. Up and down her legs. Fingers nearing the insides of her thighs. He moved expertly, arousing her skin and her blood with each little touch and stroke.

She felt pressure near her pubic mound, he was quite clearly aroused now, but some adjustments were needed. She smiled and kissed his neck as she unfastened the neck of that very sexy charcoal tunic. _Dark grey, black, colors of authority and magisterial symbolism, a high neck, meant no doubt to distance us from our instructors, but little did the designers know how much more tempting they had made the package! _She kissed his throat (also quite rough) and reached the hollow, wetly circling her tongue there and across his collarbones as she undid further fasteners down the front.

She parted the tunic quickly because she loved to watch as the cooler air hit him – he always inhaled. Nyota ran her fingernails down the hairy cleft of his pectorals and fanned her hands over them, fingers swirling with the growth of the hair there, and bent her head to tongue his budded nipples. He gasped – a rewarding behavior, and she slid backward toward his knees to get further access, the trail of hair toward his lower abdomen, the soft muscled skin either side. She unbuttoned his trousers as his hands, between her legs, curved around her behind, fingers arching up, thumbs coming from underneath to slip in the cleft of her vulva. Now it was her turn to gasp as one thumb slid inside her, the other moving, circling her clit, then moved back in – her muscles clenched around his thumbs as her head rose, baring her throat to him. He kissed her there, and sucked a little, and his whiskers were leaving a burn, but she didn't care.

He slid his seat backwards, out of his trousers; she helped pull them from underneath him and lowered his shorts at the back, pulling urgently. Being a silky knit, they slipped off quickly. He kicked his trousers away. She was crouching, about to take him in her mouth, but he lifted her back into a straddle and thrust into her, his a ss at the very bottom edge of the bed, his feet firmly on the floor, giving him lots of muscular capability. He was so full within her, she welcomed him, her blood singing in every vessel in her lower abdomen, a fullness to answer his, increasing the bond between them. She rode him, hands on his hips, hair sweeping over his belly, and his hands unfastened her bra, cradling and kneading her breasts, one more thrill added to the others, and within moments, frenetically, they both came, cresting, then resting, together. He slid up the bed to nestle her beside him, to cradle her for a bit as their blood slowed its rapid pulse.

"Screw dinner," she muttered happily. She felt him nod.

"A shower, then, and …?"

"Dessert."

"Followed, perhaps, by a visit to that café you love, and I promise to leave my hair as you like it, and remain bearded and 'scruffy'."

"Just for tonight. And wear that jacket I like."

He nodded, _Of course, k'diwa_. "I can be scruffy at any time you desire … that is, when we are off duty. And as for you …" he gathered her in his arms and passionately kissed her mouth. "Please continue to surprise me."

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End file.
